SONNET 56
By JH
Sayyar
After my death people hate you more:
The you must come to my mud grave,
You will see me standing at the floor,
In your soft bosom my wishes I save.
Forever, O Fair my verses with you,
All will expose your faithful trends
Closing eyes see me if love is true,
After me you will find traitor friends
I am poor Dear without loyal friends
Here you are in heaven I am in hell,
But no change in your willful trends,
We both fair we both know it well!
After death my love will not be dim,
With your true love, my lines I trim
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